Trip
by GoldenGirl
Summary: Cook and Effy stories that takes place after the events of 3x08
1. Chapter 1

Title: Trip

Pairing: Cook/Effy

Spoilers: Takes place after the events of episode 3x08

Disclaimer: Don't own Skins. Wish I did, though!

A/N: I might be adding more chaps to this but if I do they'll all be stand-alone vignettes about Cook and Effy's trip, so this chapter could count as a stand-alone fic.  
_---_

_Trip: A journey or voyage_

She fishes through the glove compartment, the space between the seats, the pockets in the door. All she comes up with are little yellow pills and when she holds them up close she can see that they've each got the picture of a little bomb on them.

"Aren't there any other pills?" she says. "Ones that _aren't _illegal?"

Cook throws his head back and laughs as if this, like most things, is the funniest thing he's heard. "Sorry, Love. The only pills we've got are the kind that'll get us off our faces." He takes his eyes off the road to look at her, watches her shut her eyes, lean her head on the window, and shift in her seat yet again, silent.

He looks back at the road. A moment passes, then he looks back at her. "What's the matter."

She doesn't open her eyes. "Headache," she explains.

His eyes keep going back to her, watching her as much as he can without crashing the car.  
Finally he looks straight ahead, eyebrows set in a furrow. "Well, did you eat anything? I think there's crisps in the back.... still got some vodka left."

Her mirthless chuckle makes him look at her sideways again. "Vodka? For a headache?" she asks. "Real clever."

He ignores her, his left hand already off the wheel and digging around behind her seat, sifting through the cans and bottles and wrappers on the floor. The noise makes her open her eyes. The rustling stops and he smiles triumphantly, presenting her with the bag of potato chips.

"Thanks," she smiled, taking the bag, "but it's not that. It's from sleeping in this car every night for the past week." The edge in her voice does not escape him. "And on the ground before that. And the woods. And concrete."

"OK, we'll stay in a hotel, then," he says. "Tonight, you and me, room service and ice machines."

"We haven't got the money for a hotel, Cook."  
"Don't worry about it, Princess." He grins at her but she is still skeptical.

---

"No money, no room," the man behind the plexiglass says.

They're in the main office for Motel La Belle, the first place Cook saw advertised on the road. It's the middle of the night and on the cork board of room keys hanging behind the old guy's head Cook can see that every key's still in place, every room currently vacant. He scratches the back of his head and looks back at Effy who has decided to spend this part of the detour from their Trip To Nowhere outside the main office's door, flicking her lighter off and on. Cook knows she's trying to salvage the last of her fags, he can see her getting antsy just trying to keep her hands busy.

"Look, Mate," he squints to look at the name sewn on to the old guy's shirt. "Alfred. You see that girl over there? She's sick and she needs a place to stay for the night, alright? Real sick. She's got some real bad shit." He can sense that he's losing him. "And she's pregnant," Cook whispers, his own face crestfallen with the story. "And all she wants to do is spend one night in a hotel. Just one night, mate."

Alfred looks at Effy again, then back at Cook. "She shouldn't be smoking if she's pregnant."

Cook follows Alfred's gaze. Effy leans against the door post, her back to them, but the smoke puffing out of her mouth is clear against the night sky. She takes another drag from the cigarette between her fingers, Cook knowing that she must really be desperate to smoke one of her last ones.

"She's an... 'at-risk' teenager," Cook explains.

Alfred's expressionless face does not change.

Cook fists his hands in his pockets, his lips twisting in a tight frown. His hands come back with a coin, a lighter, and a condom, all of which means he's probably not going to be getting a room tonight. His last hope is to beg.

"Look, it's not for me– I don't care about having a place to sleep, but she really needs a warm bed for the night. Please, Alfred. I'll do anything. Anything you ask."

Alfred sighs.

---

Cook and Effy walk along the doors to the ten rooms of the motel. Alfred's a few paces in front of them, leading the way. And even though the motel looks to be of the shottier variety, Cook grins like he's just been handed the keys to a castle.  
"How'd you manage this?" Effy asks.

"I told you, don't worry about it, Peachy. Anything you want, Cookie gets it done."

They stop in front of a room that's already got the door open. By the looks of it its last resident was either a rock band, an ogre, or a mountain goat. Instead of floor there is only garbage, the curtain's been torn off it's dowel and the TV that's still chained to the wall is smashed on the floor.

"Not that room," Alfred says. "This one." He hands Cook the key to the room next door. "Hope you feel better," he says to Effy before he leaves them.

"Thanks," she answers, her voice laced with confusion. Before she can ask Cook what that was about he jiggles the key in the lock and pushes the door open. "Our room awaits."

This room is cleaner than the other one, at least a little bit. There is a bed and a bathroom and it's the most Effy can ask for. She drops her bag on the bed and takes off her leather jacket. Cook's standing with his legs apart, his hands on his hips. "I know it's not much of a palace but it's the best I could do on short notice."

She walks to him and leans in and Cook's eyes shut slowly in surprise at how soft her kiss is. Her fingers tease the hair behind his ear just before she pulls away. When he opens his eyes she's staring at them. "Thank you," she says.

Cook's lips are still parted with the memory of her mouth on them. "Yeah," he says. "Sure."

She's so tired the only thing she takes off are her boots before pulling back the starchy covers and climbing into the bed. "You coming?"

"You go ahead, I'm gonna use the bathroom."

---

She's awake a few hours later and the first thing she notices is that Cook isn't next to her. Her hand roams the space beside her. It feels oddly strange without him there. She calls his name once but it just gets lost in the dark room.

She waits, thinking maybe he stepped out for a moment, but after a few minutes of staring up at the ceiling she resolves to put on her jacket and go look for him.

It doesn't take long for her to find him. He's next door in the trashed room that doesn't look so trashed anymore.

"What are you doing?"

Cook, who's crouching on the floor, spins around and gets up at the sound of her voice. He's holding a rag in one hand and a spray bottle in the other and he's got a handkerchief tied over the lower half of his face, presumably to guard from the stench of cleaning solvents and the stuff that needs to be cleaned. He pulls it down. "You're supposed to be asleep."

"I can't sleep without you." She only realizes it's true after she says it. And before his face has a chance to soften she asks again, "What are you doing?"

"I'm paying for our room." He says, a bit angry at having to admit it.

"This is how you're paying for it? Cook… you didn't have to…"

"How's the headache?" he asks abruptly.

"It's gone."

"Then it was worth it, wasn't it?"

She can't speak, and for the first time it's not because she doesn't want to. "Cook…"

"Look what I found ya." he grabs a pack of cigarettes off the night stand, that smile ever-present on his face. "You wouldn't believe how many things we can nick from this room. One man's garbage is another man's treasure trove, right?"

Her smile is genuinely shy as she takes the pack that he's offering her. She wants to say thank you but she doesn't. And he wants to say you're welcome but instead he says, "You're gonna have to drive for the next leg of our trip cuz I'm tired as fuck."

"Yeah."

"You should go back to sleep while we still have the room, yeah?"

"Yeah."

She wants to kiss him again, not to thank him but just because she wants to, but then she knows that's exactly why she shouldn't.

As she walks back to their room she tries to think of the last time someone's taken care of her that wasn't her family.

She'll try to go back to sleep, but she's too used to him next to her now.


	2. Chapter 2

Here is the second story of this fic. There may be one more– I still haven't decided. I'd love to know what you think! Thanks!

Warning: Language and drug use ahead

---

_Trip: a. an instance or period of being under the influence of a hallucinogenic drug__. __b. the euphoria, illusions, etc., experienced during such a period._

They took the little yellow pills with bombs on them.

They ran out of everything pretty quick-- money; food; petrol, and all that was left were the pills. Above the hunger and the cold was the boredom, and so they took the pills. All of them.

There is no music playing but Cook still sings, or, more appropriately, shouts, the words to a song Effy's never heard of. It's not particularly her style of music but her eyes are closed and her head sways in every which direction as if the song Cook is singing is a lullaby.

This new car they've "borrowed" has a lot more leg room in the back and they are taking advantage of it. Effy leans against the back of the driver's seat and her ankles dance on top of the backseat. At the other end Cook's just thrashing about. Or using the headrest of the passenger seat as a punching bag. Or yelling out the window. She thinks she hears him yelling something about being a monkey but it's all too quick and she's not paying much attention.

They'd be out clubbing but even the clubs are closed now and anyway it's too cold at this time of night. Plus, the car is as good a place as any to be going completely mental.

If someone were to stand outside the car, looking in, it'd seem like party central.

---

Drugs are good. Effy knows this because it's cold and there's no food and everything's bad but she feels so fucking good. Even if maybe it's because Cook's hand strokes the inside of her thigh. Back and forth, back and forth. It's like a hot tickle and that feels so fucking good too.

The sound of a flame sparking to life makes her open her eyes. Fire has always gotten her full attention. She's been fascinated by fire ever since Anthea told her never to play with it. But that's all she's ever been able to do. Cook's flickering his lighter and his face stretches right in front of her to a huge contorted form. She blinks. The flame is all different colors, and bending, and roaring. Cook moves his hand dangerously close to it. The smile crawling onto her face reaches even her glazed and dilated eyes.

"You'll burn yourself," she whispers. It is unclear whether this is a warning or a premonition. Perhaps it is a command.  
Cook, of course, burns himself. He snaps the lighter shut, howls like a wounded wolf and whips his hand all over the place, hard and fast. Effy laughs. She laughs and laughs until Cook forgets his pain and laughs too and the tears squeezing out of the corner of his eyes have nothing to do with the hurt of his brand new burn.

He picks up the bottle and is about to unscrew the metal cap but then realizes it's completely empty. So he takes the lighter he dropped and flicks it on again, this time making the flame lick the bottleneck.

"What are you doing?"

His open-mouthed grin is crazy and so are his eyes.

"Stop," Effy says. But he lights the cap now too and the glass is starting to brown. She knows enough about fire to know what could happen next. "Don't do that." But her request comes out week and it sounds more like she's giving permission.

She covers her face as soon as she sees the first crack but Cook is too stoned and too slow to do the same. And then...

"Fuckin' 'ell!" He yells as the bottle shatters at the neck.

There are tiny shards all around and Effy has to wipe some off of her shirt. The way Cook's holding onto his face it seems he's been hit.

"Silly boy."

"FuckFuckFuck!" he is angry and this is no longer funny, though Effy still smiles. She climbs to his side of the backseat, ignoring the tiny shard that's just dug itself into her bare knee. She straddles his lap and moves his hand from his face.

He's squinting through one eye, keeping the other shut. She hopes he doesn't have glass in his eye because she's too fucked to perform any sort of medical procedures right now. But all Cook's got is a trail of blood dripping from his eyebrow.

"Fire heats the tin and then tin heats the glass and then," she says. "Boom."

He doesn't say anything and it's as if he's forgotten all about his cut because he's looking at Effy like he's only now realized that she's in his lap.

It's just broken glass and blood and Effy thinks this isn't so bad. She wipes his forehead with her hand.

If someone were to stand outside the car, looking in, it would look like two kids trying to kill themselves.  
---

Sometimes she bounces. And sometimes, when she wants it just as bad as he does, she does more than that. Right now she's rocking. It's not even her that's doing it, really. Her body has officially taken control, responding to touch, to sensation, to spine-tingling nerve endings.

Broken glass and cramped spaces are not ideal for these situations and she think's she's got some of his blood on her cheek but the drugs and the pleasure and the pain fogs her mind to the point of ecstacy.

Cook was more of a participant in the beginning but now all he can do is lean his head back, squeeze his eyes shut, and spout (unintelligible) mumbled words in between rapid breaths. She's normally the silent partner in these dances but she can hardly hear Cook over her own pleading moans. Until she hears "Stop don't. Stop don't. Stop don't _hell fucking _oh."

"What?" she asks, breathless.

"Don't stop," he repeats. "_Fuckin''ell_."

Rocking, rocking, rocking, "I," again, "I think I was born backwards."

"What?"

"I'm tripping."

"No, Eff," he says, taking the back of her head with one hand. He's holding her steady so that he can look at her. "You're coming."

If Freddie were to stand outside the car, looking in, he would see Effy and Cook fucking their brains out.

---


	3. Chapter 3

_Trip: a. a stumble or fall b. an error or lapse in conduct or etiquette._

Their trip's over and Cook should have been expecting this. Bonnie and Clyde never did have a happy ending. But he can't say he feels like he's been riddled with bullets, no, not exactly. Girls come and go but he'll always need his lads. And this is the start of a new chapter. He's going to be a better friend. He's going to be considerate. He isn't going to dope himself up or drink himself to death.

He takes another swallow from his fisted beer can. That's all bullshit. He'll be back to messing up his life soon as he steps on land. And it isn't so nice to have his lads back when all they do is piss all over his fun. There's still a trace of anger that's left in the pit of his stomach, mucking up the resolve of acceptance he's trying to appropriate. His lips twist cruely as he watches _them _at the other end of the boat: knees touching, him pulling back a strand of her hair, him having his cake and eating it too.

He averts his eyes.

He's going to turn over a new leaf. A new chapter. He has to because he loves them so fucking much.

---

Freddie's gone to the bathroom and Emily and Naomi have sneaked off somewhere or another and they've left Effy and Cook, uncomfortably, alone at the table. The two have managed to avoid this exact situation for a while now but Cook's not going to dance around the issue.

His two fingers do a show of pounding a cigarette stick on the tabletop for a bit as he readies himself to ask it. Effy's already anticipating it.

"So what's it like?" he finally says. "Being in a relationship. A _committed _relationship."

Given their predicament– long forgotten by them and everyone else (or at least pushed to the back of their minds where it can't mess with this pretty little world they've all created)– this is the sort of thing you ask just to be an asshole. And the way Effy's looking at him he realizes that he sounds like one. But there isn't a hint of a smile on his face because he's asking in all earnestness.

"Cook..."

He's desperate to know if it's all it's cracked up to be. If he's missing out on being loved. He and Effy are alike, he knows that-- they're pretty much the same. (They both love Freddie, at least.) And if she can survive in a cage than maybe he can too.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Just tell me what I wanna hear," he shrugs.

Pretty soon Freddie's out of the toilets and JJ's finally caught up with them and a girl walks into the pub that catches Cook's eye mostly because he's busy looking for a distraction.

---

This girl, the one he's found at the bar, comes back often enough, and Cook fucks her often enough but he can't stand her otherwise. She's got an awful, nasally voice and she never stops talking except for while they're fucking and so he fucks her a lot.

He's fucking her now, in fact, and all is somewhat quiet in his dormitory. With this other girl under him he thinks back to the question he asked Effy at Keith's pub, about what it was like being in a committed relationship. "Just tell me what I wanna hear," he'd said.

She'd leaned forward and bore into him with a piercing gaze he couldn't shake off and said, "It's a fucking fairytale."

---

She finds him through the swarm of gyrating bodies even though the place is packed and the music's thumping. She's trying to get his attention and he really wants to give it to her but he can't stop dancing and his head's some place else and his hand's glued to this other girl's hip... and side.... and breast.

"Effy!" he shouts, ecstatic. "Why the long face, Love?! This party's fuckin' mental!"

She answers him but he can't hear her at all until finally she takes his hand and leads him through the throng, back to where the bathrooms are. He slams himself against the wall and catches his breath, wipes his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

"What is it, Peachy?"

"Do you----any more of----you're on?!"

He can't make out have of what she's saying so he leans in, presents his ear for her to speak directly into.

"Whatever you're on!" she says, "do you have any more of it!?"

His mouth cracks open wide and he laughs, heartily, and she sort of laughs too, or at least smiles.

"Whatever you want, Princess!" He digs his hand into his pocket, rummages through the bits of useless crap in there till he pulls out a little yellow pill with the picture of a bomb on it. He hands it to her.

She gives it a good look. "It's the same...."

"What?!"

"Nothing."

But he knows what she was going to say. "They're the same ones we had in the car that night!" he says, the side of his head right next to hers. "D'you remember that night? I remember everything!"

He stops talking but she stays there, inclined into him, listening, and he notices that her palm hangs on his abdomen. "You explained how fire works," he says, and he doesn't need to shout because her ear is right by his lips. "And then you picked glass out of my head and you tended to my wound. D'you remember that?!"

'Tended his wound' is a generous way to put it but he waits for her to answer. He can't see her face but he sees the way she nods.

When he puts his hand on the side of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair, it feels like they're the only ones in the whole club and for a moment all he does is feel how close she is to him. She's so close he could breath her in. He could fucking kiss her if he wanted to. He could do a lot more than that. "I remember fucking in the back seat," he goes on. She doesn't move when he touches her thigh. Doesn't even flinch when it roams farther in. "I remember... I remember you think you were born backwards."

She steps back, finally, after an eternity, and looks at him with a wrinkle in her brow. The spell's broken and Cook falls back against the wall. It seems like so long since that night in the car. Or even the night in the motel. It seems so long ago since their trip together.

"Don't care which way you were born, Love," he says shrugging and laughing. However close they were a moment ago's already forgotten. The music's loud again, people are jumping and dancing and moshing. "Backwards, forwards, anyway's fine by me!"

She looks down at the pill again. "Do you have another one?!"

Right, she'd need one for Freddie of course, who's somewhere in this club where Cook hasn't run into him yet. He laughs to himself as he digs through his pockets again because it figures that she'd need some form of synthetic dose of happiness to keep herself entertained while Freddie's around.

He gives her another pill.

"Thanks."

"See you 'round, Effy."

—

"'Ve I got the wrong house? No. Hang on. This is the right house. Who the fuck are you?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

Cook checks his hand. A second ago there was a bottle there, he's sure. And now there's a strange person in Effy's house. "What?" He is confused.

"Are you one of Effy's friends? She's got so many now I can hardly keep up," Tony says with very little enthusiasm.

"Are you 'er brother?" Cook asks, a blind grin spreading across his face as he slowly recognizes the same vague sense of unsettling beauty. "I know all about you, mate! Yeah! You went out with a girl with funny nipples. Eff tol' me all 'bout you. You're legend!"

Tony sighs as if at the thought that all his adolescent life has been boiled down to this rather stupid anecdote. "Well it's good to know the legacy's still alive and well." Turning towards the stairs he shouts, "Effy! Door!"

Effy comes down, a little slower once she sees who's there. "He smells like whiskey," Tony says on his way up. "And yet, still more interesting than that boyfriend of yours."

Cook hears him, laughs, salutes.

"What are you doing here?" Effy asks him.

Cook ambles around the small foyer like he's not very sure of the answer.

"You have me," he says. He shrugs. There's really not much else to say. "I've been with you. I'm not curious or anyfin'. It's not... it's not the chase, you know? I know what it's like. I know exactly what it's like to kiss you. To be kissed by you."

"Cook."

"I don't _want _you," he stresses, talking loudly now. "I don't want you at all. I fucking _need_–"

"Cook, if my dad sees you here he'll–"

"I feel like I'm fuckin' starving to death, Eff." He doesn't know how else to explain it. But Effy's eyes shine sadly and she seems to understand him.

The next time he hears his name it's in the form of a question, and coming from the brother he'd met just before, on his way back down.

"_You're _Cook?"

Cook's used to inspiring the sort of abrasive anger in people he sees now in Effy's brother. He'd love to fight but, "Not the best time, ma–"

"Tony!" Effy says as her brother forcefully grabs the front of Cook's shirt and pins him to the wall.

"You're the one who took my sister on a little summer holiday." Tony's face is threateningly close to Cook's. (He has the fleeting thought that maybe fighting Effy's brother would be a bad way to make himself acquainted with her family so he adopts this as his excuse to stand limp under her brother's fists.)

"She needed me," he explains. "No one else was there and she needed me! I fucking saved her from... from..."

He's too drunk and pitiful to finish and Tony shoves him outside, without much effort. "She fucking needed me," he says to himself.

—

Like most things that ever happened between them, they don't bring it up again. The next time they see each other they're at the same table for lunch but Cook's miles away laughing at one of JJ's jokes and she's in a distant land nodding and smiling at something that Freddie is saying.

---

"Didn't Freddie tell you?" JJ says. "Well, I suppose he'd be a bit reluctant to, given your combined histories. But there seems to be trouble in his and Effy's proverbial paradise."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, from what I gather, Freddie feels he can't always understand what makes her tick. I believe his exact words were 'I love her, I just wish I knew what she was thinking half the time.'"

"'S that what he told you?"

"Yep. Apparently he hasn't caught on that Effy's definition of sharing her thoughts comprise mainly of making cat eyes and offering the occasional smirk. Though, oddly enough, I thought that's what he liked about her."

Cook stands and chuckles and paces aimlessly, restlessly. "She's not meant to be read like a book. If she wants to tell you something she'll say it when she's good and ready. Any i–"

"Oh boy, I shouldn't've said anything."

"Why?"

"This information is privileged, Cook. Whatever happens between Freddie and Effy just promise that it won't inevitably cause another rift between the two of you. Alright?"

Cook laughs. "Yeah, alright."

---

He's in some trouble and it's the kind of trouble that results in a black eye and what seems like a quart of blood spilling out of his head. He goes to Freddie because Freds is supposed to be looking after him and he finds him in his shed, and Effy's there too.

"What the fuck happened!" Freddie's concern has always been a cocktail of anger and frustration and Cook finds it reassuring. "Fuck, you're gushing blood, Cook!"

"It's just a flesh wound, Freds!" He exclaims. He's a little dazed and a little crazed and Effy's looking a little horrified in the corner. He wouldn't normally stare at her with Freddie in the same room but Freddie's turned away, explaining to her that he's going to get bandages and that he'll be right back and that she needs to watch him.

Freddie's out the door in a flash and Cook plops into the big chair and checks his pockets for spliff like it's just any other day and half his face wasn't covered in red.

Effy kneels in front of him and he forgets about the weed. Her eyes roam his face and he can see concern and fear and alarm and he'll be damned but he's sure he sees love. He's certain of it. He can't help but smile.

"Trying to get yourself killed?" she says.

He's so sure he sees it. He's certain.

"You're not fucking Clyde, Cook."

He chuckles at first. Then his chuckle grows into laughter. She isn't joking around but he feels so light he has to laugh.

---

What he remembers most from the day he met her is that she ate ketchup off his face and he was struck dumbfounded for once in his life.

---

It's not long until Freddie himself brings up his lover's tiff. He can't help it really, since Cook shows up at the shed while Freddie's poring over a note from her for the millionth time.

"She's not talking to me."

"She's your girlfriend. Why wouldn't she talk to you?"

This is strange because they never ever, under any circumstances talk about Effy, but Freddie must be really desperate, and anyway, what's Cook supposed to say to something like that?

"'_Don't be mad_,'" Freddie reads from the note. "'_I'm not talking to anyone right now. It's not just you_.' I mean, what the fuck, right? She could talk to me. She's just choosing not to. It's so fucking childish."

Freddie crumples up the note but doesn't toss it too far. He takes another spliff and lights up but it's doing nothing to lighten his mood.

"What would you do?" He asks Cook, obviously reluctantly.

Cook shrugs and shakes his head. "Dunno, mate," he says simply.

---

What Cook would do is sit with her. (Primarilly because she can't protest.)

Later that night he's outside her window, holding on like an inexpert rock climber as she stands by the pane.

"I heard you aren't talking," he says.

She nods.

"Your brother back at uni?"

She nods.

"Your dad 'round?"

She shakes her head.

"I brought refreshments," he says, heaving up a six pack. "You gonna let me in now?"

They sit on her floor, leaning against the side of her bed with the only light coming from the street lamps outside her window.

A few months ago she was his. Now he can sit so close to her and not even touch her without betraying his best friend. But the truth is she's still his. She'll always be his; Freddie's just playing with her now because teacher insists on sharing and Cook's already had his turn. But Cook can wait.

He's on his second beer and Effy's on her third. She doesn't like the taste of it, though, he can tell, and he'd ask her if she wants something else but he actually kind of likes the quiet.

"This is stupid."

He takes the rim of the bottle from his lips, a little surprised to hear her after an hour of no sound whatsoever.

"I thought I'd be able to think more clearly. Sort everything out. Everything was so much easier when I never said anything. And you aren't making anything easier being here."

"Throw me out, then."

She takes another swig from her bottle and ignores him.

"You need to sort things out?" he asks innocently (or as innocently as Cook can.)

She stares at him and chooses not to talk this time because the answer's so obvious. "Why did you come here?"

He shrugs, takes another drink. "You know, we never slept in a bed together before? Not once during our trip. Or before then. D'you want to? Right now?"

"I'm still with Freddie, Cook."

"I don't mean sex. I mean sleeping, together, in the same bed."

"I know what you mean."

"Fine," Cook says. "When you're not with Freddie anymore, you gonna sleep with me then?"

It's almost too dark to see the smirk on her lips but he sees it. He can see she's finally fallen just as hard as he has.

---

He remembers their trip and a night of carrying her, kissing her, holding her and never letting go, and they kept walking and walking until they couldn't walk anymore. He remembers stopping, falling to the ground together, deciding this was a perfect spot to go to close their eyes. And they didn't need anything else because this was enough.

"You, me, under the stars," he'd said, looking down to the top of her head, resting on his chest. He remembers her hand on his stomach, her cheek nuzzled against him, and he held on to her to keep her warm and to feel her near him, always. "It's alright, 'init?"

He remembers the way Effy looked up and smiled like she meant it, and kissed the underside of his jaw.

"It's always you and me," she says.

---


End file.
